Land-Song
| Wyndreth Berginsdottir |
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A Review of TÝR’s CD: “Land”
These are the songs our Old Ones sang the sea beneath, restless in bed-barrows, waiting, longing, warding. Listen, all: lore-learning lives in lines new-measured. O Sons of Odin, what have you wakened? Wild and wise-eyed, willful, dauntless audacious men of merit mighty-- Ravens rise, wolves run to your voices! Who set such songs sounding in your blood? Winter’s breath-blade, biting wind-scythe stings salt tears to tight-narrowed eyes. The frost-ríma’s sung for one who listens even while wishing for open water. Summer's hammer storm-heavy, hard, drives deep the nails of Njord into waiting waves. Harsh hardship bear-hearted makes worthy men upon ocean-mane raging. O Sons of Odin, what have you wakened? Fine song-fire from your fingers flashes! Gifts of voice-gold, you give freehanded! Bragi blesses the bold sound-skalds, you Tyr-born warband taking the song-road! The brightest gods, they hear you, listen; speak your names seated at mead-bench And mark they this: that soon, O Sons of Odin, no ocean or land can hope to fully hold all your far-faring fame! O Sons of Odin, what you have wakened! ©2008 k. kahan |
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